Roots
by hulklinging
Summary: Every plant has unique roots, and for Briar Moss, his roots look a lot like a wallet.


There were little things that took a stupid-long time to get used to.

Like having a wallet. He hadn't used one, even after he started having money to spend. He'd kept all of his cash in his shoe, or maybe a pocket, or under his mattress, if he had too much to keep on him. It drove the girls crazy, watching him pull bills out of bizarre places. Then Sandry had made him a wallet. It was hemp, sturdy and uncomplicated. She put card sleeves, even though he didn't have any, and a photo sleeve too.

"Who do you think I'm gonna have a picture of?" He asked. She had waved a hand at him, smiling.

"Keep a picture of your shakkan in it, for all I care. Wallets have them, that's all!"

He put the bus pass Rosethorn had bought him there, because it was kind of convenient, maybe. And it made Sandry roll her eyes, which he liked.

It took him a while longer to remember to use it for his money. It felt weird, and respectable, and when he put it in his back pocket he felt like it practically glowed, shouting to any pickpocket around that he had lost his touch.

But no one ever nicked his wallet. He never lost it, either, which surprised everyone, a little bit. This was the boy who'd 'lost' every belt or pair of socks for months. But he could almost sense where it was, although he didn't say that out loud. It sounded dumb, even to him.

One day, Tris took him to the library. His shiny new library card took up the first of the card slots, and Briar didn't mind that, because the library was large and fantastic and now that he knew reading could be fun he wanted to read everything.

"Don't lose that!" Tris warned. "Now that you have your own, I'm not lending you mine again!"

Having a wallet was weird, but it was convenient. He'd never say it, but he started to feel strange when he went out without his wallet, like something was missing. Old receipts crowded the pockets, then disappeared, only to be replaced again. His bus passes piled up until he had to take some for the older ones out, but he always kept the first one, safe in its pocket. The library card was finally joined by a bank card, although he still kept an emergency stash of money under his bed. A girl's number on a scrap of paper sometimes stayed for a while, but never for too long. The girls made fun of him for that, called him a heartbreaker, but he just guessed that it was hard to date a boy who already had three girls he loved (although never in a sexual way, like everyone thought. Blood never meant anything to him anyway, family always meant the people he chose, and they were his sisters, and that was that).

Niko finally tracked down a birth certificate for him, or maybe he conjured it, but he found it just in time to take his driver's test, and get a learner's license. He didn't have anything to drive, really, because Rosethorn wasn't about to lend him her car, but his license went into his wallet anyway, which by now was covered in dirt and a few doodled veins, but still in good shape. He had a few of Rosethorn and Lark's cards, just in case he saw someone who looked like they needed them.

When he finally turned eighteen, he packed up a backpack, and wallet and new passport in hand, announced that he was going to travel. The girls all cried, but they knew he'd be back, and Rosethorn just made him promise to meet her in Europe somewhere, when she went in the summer.

It was scary, to forge off into the great unknown, when only a few years before he'd honestly thought he was gonna die in the same city he was born in. It was made a little easier, though, by the pictures that he slipped into his wallet once he'd left the house. One was a photo of almost eight years ago, with Rosethorn and Lark standing together, Lark's arms around Sandry and Daja, Rosethorn with a hand on Briar and Tris' shoulders. All of the kids sans Sandry look annoyed at having to stand for a picture, but it made him smile, now. There's a photo of the three girls, much more recent, all in their graduation gowns, beaming. There's a photo of him and Rosethorn, covered in dirt and laughing, from a few summers ago, and a photo of Lark the day she taught them all to do handstands.

Though the next year of traveling would be at times almost unbearable, he always felt better when he put a hand on his wallet. It showed wear, just like he did. A corner brown with old blood. Most of the money, gone. One of the photos had been torn in half and awkwardly taped back together. But it was a reminder that he had roots, that there were people that loved him.

He holds his wallet and closes his eyes, and for a moment, he's home.


End file.
